


Maybe in a Better Life

by Aseikh



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gay Panic, Homoerotic Massage Scene, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Make RA Queerer 2k20, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Pining Gay Bullshit, Queering the RA Universe One Scene at a Time, make it gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aseikh/pseuds/Aseikh
Summary: Rewrite of the Trial by Combat scene in Kings of Clonmel, with some pining Will/Horace and added scenes!
Relationships: Horace Altman/Will Treaty
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Maybe in a Better Life

**Author's Note:**

> BIG thank you to VallirenWrites for beta-ing a few of these scenes! You were a huge help!

Horace, Will, and Halt, who had spent the past couple days camped in the forest a few kilometers outside the town limits, had slipped into Dun Kilty just after first light. Even at that early hour, there had been plenty of people stirring, and Horace kept his identity concealed beneath a long cloak. The two Rangers, of course, were virtually unknown in Dun Kilty, and the sight of three cloaked strangers evoked little interest. Those who did see them assumed they had simply come into the town to see the combats.

They found an early-opening inn and breakfasted there. They slipped into a booth, Halt on one side to allow for him to get up and roam, and Will and Horace together in the other seat. The booth was smaller and they were crammed next to each other with their thighs and shoulders touching. The close contact wasn't anything new for the two of them, but with Will's nerves building as the fight got closer and closer, he found that it wasn't helping his focus at all.

Halt seemed less concerned with eating than with eavesdropping on the conversations around them. Horace, for his part, was filling his stomach like usual, not going easy on the meal in case of nerves or otherwise. He was casually leaned forward as he scarfed down the food, talking at Will about something he'd noticed in town earlier. At first, Will tried to respond, to keep their talk going, but was quickly distracted and their banter trailed off. Noticeably more on edge than the other two, Will tried to follow Halt's lead and listen in to the conversations around them. From what they overheard, it was obvious that the trial by combat was going ahead and that Ferris hadn't managed to renege on his—or rather, Halt's—word. Across from him, Will saw his mentor's grim smile at that comment. How bad of a King was Ferris, if the one time Halt took over the only time the people of Dun Kilty seemed to like him? That was hardly the typical behavior for the usurped heir of the throne, anyways, Will thought.

Knowing they would have to leave soon, Will managed to cram down a buttered bread roll with hot bacon layered on top of it. But his stomach felt tight and he only felt more on edge than before, worrying about his friend. As he had noticed before, Horace seemed supremely unconcerned, eating a large amount of the delicious pink bacon accompanied by several fried eggs, his blue eyes partially closed in pleasure at the taste. Will could barely sit still, contrary to his years of training as a Ranger. He wanted to be up and prowling about to release the tension that he felt throughout his entire body. But out of concern and the need to stay near Horace, he sat quietly. Plus, even though his leg and shoulder burned at the touch, it was also what was keeping him going at the moment.

He reflected on his nerves as they sat, not speaking. There had been plenty of occasions in times past when he and Horace had been waiting for a battle and Will's Ranger training had made him seem calm and unconcerned to others. He thought back to the siege of Macindaw, the two of them cramped together in that small cart for hours on end. There was no way they wouldn't have been on top of the other with how small they made it, but it had been necessary to make the cart as inconspicuous as possible. It had been awkward in more ways than one, the sheer amount of intimate physical contact, but even then Will had been able to hide his nerves—both for the battle and for his proximity to Horace. Horace had even remarked then on his ability to sit unmoving for hours waiting for the enemy. So why was Will so on edge today?

It didn't take much to realize that, on the other occasions, he had been sharing the danger with Horace. They had been back to back, able to protect one another in a moment's notice. When they had waited for the Temujai army outside Hallasholm, for example, Horace had been there holding up the shield. Or when they had crouched for hours on end, conversing in whispers, under the cart by the walls of Macindaw, waiting for darkness. But this was different. This time, Horace would be facing the danger alone, with no help from Will. Will wouldn't be able to step in-between him and the danger. He wouldn't be able to dispatch the enemy in a heartbeat, barely thinking about loosing the arrow in defense of the one he loved. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his worry was less about the danger, and more about being unable to be there, beside his closest friend, taking the challenge on together, as they've always done. And that was almost unbearable for the young Ranger. He would have to watch his friend, his … _his_ knight, risk his life. Twice. He would be unable to take a hand to help him, despite having the power to end the whole thing in the space of two heartbeats.

The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming.

"Time to go," Halt said, shattering Will's thoughts as he returned to their table after one of his circuits of the room.

With a sigh of relief, louder than he'd intended, Will leapt to his feet and made for the door, needing to get outside. The close proximity to Horace, even just the simple, casual touch, hadn't helped with Will's nerves at all. It had probably only made it worse, even if the abject physical side of him was only craving more.

Horace was following just behind him, a wide grin on his face despite what they were about to walk into. "Why are you on edge, Will?" he asked, "You're not fighting the Grumpy Twins."

Will turned an anxious glance on him, hoping that it was all Horace saw in him. He just barely missed Horace wetting his lips, the longing stare turning to casual confidence. "That's why I'm on edge. I'm not used to sitting by and watching." Will looked away before Horace could puzzle out any more. But obviously the knight saw something, because his smile slowly disappeared as he considered Will.

Before he could say anything about it, though, Halt pushed between the two of them, snorting. He led the way to the market square, and took in the preparations that had been made under Sean's supervision. A group of Tennyson's white robes, who were erecting the shelter where their leader would sit, glared at them. Horace smiled back at them, waving in greeting. The acolytes turned away from them, muttering to each other.

"Nice to know who your friends are," he said, absently settling a hand on Will's shoulder. He didn't seem to notice Will's slight flinch at the touch, before Will relaxed like he normally would. Horace looked at the two pavilions and saw another group of white robes outside the southern one. Aside from the two marshals posted to keep sightseers away, there was nobody close to the other tent. "I guess that's us?" he said, raising an eyebrow at Will and Halt and jerking his chin in the direction of the other pavilion. He started towards it, Will following a few strides behind, having to hurry to match Horace's long-legged stride.

Halt trailed behind them for a few minutes, then said, "You keep an eye on Horace. I'm going to find Sean."

Will nodded. He knew that Halt had been working on the text of Sean's announcement. Halt wanted to be sure that Horace's victory would signal an unmistakable refutation of Alsiass's power and a total acceptance of the Sunrise Warrior. This was to be the definitive fight—or fights, he mentally corrected himself. Sean would make that plain before the combat began, and he would require Tennyson to agree without equivocation or qualification to the conditions. If the Outsider leader hesitated or refused to agree in full, then his lack of conviction would be exposed to the crowd, as well as his own recently recruited followers. Support for the Outsiders would begin to crumble.

As Will watched Halt hurry away towards the royal enclosure, Will and Horace made their way to the Sunrise Warrior's pavilion. It was a high tent, easily three meters tall at its middle point, so there was no need to stoop as they entered. Inside, the white canvas sides filtered the early morning sun. Will paused in the entrance of the tent, his eyes following Horace as he moved around the lounge that was placed in the center of the main area. The way he moved, the easy sway of his hips, the straightness of his back and wide shoulders, it all told Will how confident Horace was in the face of these two fights. That didn't ease his anxiety, though, and Will moved out of the doorway, intending to look around to make sure no one was hiding anywhere.

There was a small screened-off space in one corner. Will poked his nose into it and saw a bucket.

"What's this for?" he asked, scrunching his nose at it.

Horace smiled. "It's a privy," he said. "In case I need a nervous wee."

Will hastily withdrew, blood rushing to his cheeks at the comment. He knew Horace was just making a joke, but Will's mind immediately went elsewhere, and he had to mentally yell at himself to not think about that while he was deathly certain Horace might be killed within the next few hours. He pushed the thoughts away, putting them down to nerves and tried to ignore them while he examined the very basic furnishings in the tent.

As he had noticed before, the main part held a couch, a table, a canvas chair, and a rack where Horace could store his arms and armor. His mail shirt, helmet with chain mail neck guard, and light metal greaves to protect his shins and lower legs had been delivered to the castle for scrutiny the day before and now laid on the table before them. In addition, two round bucklers embellished with the sunrise insignia had been supplied at Halt's request. Horace checked over each piece carefully, ensuring that nothing had been tampered with and that all straps and fittings were secure.

Will began to pace as Horace worked, but he must've noticed Will's continued restlessness. Horace glanced around the interior of the tent, before his eyes fell on a water jug and two mugs on the table.

"Would you mind filling this with cold water?" Horace asked, "I know I'll have a raging thirst after the first fight. I always do."

Seizing the chance to do something useful, he snatched the jug up and started towards the doorway. He paused, though, suddenly feeling uncertain. He would be leaving Horace alone, and that didn't sit well with Will knowing that those assassins were in the same area. "You're sure you'll be all right?" he asked. He meant it as 'all right for now' originally, but even as he spoke he realized it was about the fight as well. 'Are you sure you'll survive,' was the underlying message he hadn't even realized he'd included. He wanted to hear Horace say it directly to him. He _needed_ to hear Horace say it.

Horace smiled at him. "I'll be fine. See if you can find some linen or muslin to wet and drape over the jug. It'll keep it cool."

Will didn't know if Horace's gentle smile was supposed to help his nerves or shatter them. He was frozen for a moment, still replaying that smile (a smile he saw nearly every day but still couldn't get over) in his head. "I'll do that," he finally choked out. "You're sure you're—"

"Go!" Horace said, laughing and making a mock swipe at him. Will ducked out of the tent, a strained smile plastered on his face, hoping that if he faked it well enough, Horace wouldn't notice his mounting worry as they got closer and closer to the time of the first duel.

He returned with iced water within fifteen minutes, and after a quick exchange with Horace, was back out of the pavilion with the task to take Horace's sword to the stewards table for the inspection. The moment he'd gotten back from the water errand, he'd started pacing again with nothing to do, so now Will had no doubt that Horace was just reaching for things for him to do to get him out of the tent. He was also supposed to find out what the first of the twins would be using for the battle.

As Will stepped up to Sean's table, a white robe from the Outsiders' side started in their direction, a large, unwieldy, and unfamiliar weapon in hand. By the time the marshal finished going over Horace's blade, the white robe was at the table, lugging the giant piece onto the wooden surface with some struggle. It had a thick oak handle, maybe half a meter long, which was bound every ten or so centimeters with iron strips to reinforce it. A large, heavy chain was attached to one end, where, at the other end of the chain, it was attached to a spiked iron ball about the size of a melon. Or a head.

Will swallowed hard, looking away from the large weapon before he started to freak out. Had Horace ever faced one of those before? He didn't even know what to call it, not until he heard the marshal make a comment about a mace and chain.

The marshal nodded to Will, confirming that Horace's weapon was cleared for the fight and dismissing Will. Turning away, Will headed back in the direction of their tent. He was intercepted by Halt just before he made it to the entrance, and Halt led him to a bench a few meters away where they could sit and watch the tent without disturbing Horace within. Time passed and they heard movement and the clinking of metal from inside the pavilion. Halt stood and led the way to the entrance, Will just a step behind him.

Horace was partially undressed, changing to the proper linings and layers for his chain mail. Will tried to not stare at Horace's abs as his friend turned to them as they entered. He slipped the first layer over his head, covering up the distraction before it got too … unbearable.

"What's he using?" Horace asked, beating Will to the matter. He looked completely unaware of Will's awkwardness, either used to it from how often they undressed in each other's presence, or just not in the state of mind _to_ notice.

"A mace and chain," Will answered, fingers tapping the side of his leg as he tried to control his nerves. He felt like he was going to be sick, especially after seeing that huge weapon. Halt's sharp intake of breath at his words didn't help either. "That's bad, isn't it?" he said quietly, barely able to force the question out of his lips. When he had seen the weapon, his concern for Horace had only skyrocketed. It was a big, heavy weapon, capable of a lot of destruction in little time.

He didn't even notice when Horace shrugged in response to his question. "I don't know. I've never faced one before. Any thoughts, Halt?"

After that, his companions' voices faded away, Will's nerves finally shutting his mind down. Horace and Halt were conversing just in front of him, barely a foot away, and Halt was obviously concerned. Horace looked shockingly calm considering what was about to go down, however, taking in Halt's advice like he'd heard it a thousand times.

But all Will could see was Horace falling to the heavy, spiked mace and chain, the ball slamming into his knight's chest, crushing through the chain mail and shattering the bones and cartilage beneath. One solid hit from that could kill Horace, Will realized. And then he heard Halt say something about the spiked ball whipping over the rim of Horace's shield and catching him in the arm or head.

Either one, if placed right, could kill Horace in an instant. Or put him out of commission forever.

A light touch at his elbow pulled Will out of his stupor. Horace smiled crookedly at him, Halt already slipping out of the tent to do some other errand. "Give me a hand with my armor, Will," Horace said, gently pulling Will towards him. "I'll go out and finish him off, and be back before you know it." The knight pulled him into a tight hug, obviously sensing that Will was internally freaking out. But just being within Horace's personal space, just _being_ within his grasp, Will found that he didn't want to leave. Absently, Will's fingers hooked onto Horace's belt and he rested his forehead against his chest, just under his chin. He buried his face in Horace's shirt, hoping it would stop the tears from coming.

He took a shaky breath. "Please don't do anything stupid," Will whispered into the cloth of Horace's shirt, closing his eyes tight. "Please don't make any stupid risks."

Horace said nothing in response, instead just tightening his embrace around Will. They had known that the missions they went on could be potentially dangerous, that they could kill them.

But that didn't mean that they had to be okay with it.

* * *

Will barely listened as Sean called out the rules and whatnot before the first duel. He was allowed on the field as Horace's aid, but would only be there before and after the duel finished. He had volunteered for the position before Halt could say anything, wanting— _needing—_ to be the first one beside Horace, win or lose. Either to help him off the field to prepare for the next fight, or to the bloody mess that would probably be left behind.

The young Ranger watched as Horace took up his sword, spinning it experimentally and nodding at the familiar weight of the blade. Will heard chains clank and his eyes flicked up in time to see Killeen lift the mace and chain from table, the heavy ball scraping the table before simply dropping off the edge and dangling at the large man's feet.

Will swallowed hard, feeling like there was a rock in his stomach. He still felt like he was going to puke, his mind repeating over and over what he had seen earlier: the spiked ball slamming into Horace's chest, his head, beating his best friend to a pulp before anyone could step in.

"Attendants, leave the arena," Sean said quietly. The steward's voice jerked Will out of the vision, and he met Will's eyes as he spoke. Will barely knew the chief steward, only knowing how he was related to Halt, but he immediately read the concern in his eyes. He was worried for Horace as well. Sean nodded to him, the movement barely noticeable with everything going on.

Taking one last look at Horace, he met eyes with his best friend and possibly the love of his life. In that instant, Will realized that Horace might die and he would never know Will's true feelings. And Will would have to sit by and watch and be okay with that. But he _wasn't_ okay with that. He _wasn't_ okay with Horace not knowing how he felt, especially now that he was in the position where he could very well die in the next few minutes.

Horace, for his part, was infuriatingly calm. He winked at Will as he started towards the center of the field, flashing the exact smile that started Will down to the point of no return.

Will ducked under the railing that marked the fighting area, his cheeks warming, and moved to join Halt in the first row of benches. He couldn't even bring himself to meet Halt's gaze, convinced he would start sobbing if he took one look at his mentor. Instead, he put his palms to his knees and clenched his fists, focusing on the pain instead of whatever Sean was saying now. He stared at his lap, absently feeling Halt's hand settle on his own to give him comfort. He barely noticed it.

"Just let him breach the rules once," Will heard Halt mutter. "Let him _look_ like breaching them, and I'll put an arrow in him."

"That'll make two of us," Will said back, knowing well enough that he didn't mean just a single arrow. He had a full quiver on him. He could _easily_ do more than one arrow.

They both fell silent, Will closing his eyes, focusing on the pain, Halt's comforting touch, the movement of the people behind him.

Dimly, he heard the signal trumpet.

Will opened his eyes. He didn't want to watch Horace get killed, but he also wasn't going to just look away and ignore what was happening. He would watch every step Killeen made, every movement the man took, for any violation of the rules. Looking behind them and across the field, he could just make out Tennyson and his crew, along with the Genovesans.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to step into the fight if Horace slipped up, but he could very well stop others from tampering with anything. Will's eyes wouldn't leave the arena, not as long as Horace was still within the area.

He watched as Killeen flung the mace and chain again and again, crumpling Horace's shield around his arm. He watched as Horace stumbled, struggling to keep his shield between his body and the crushing power of the giant's weapons. But, somehow, every time he did so. Horace blocked the first two blows, barely, but then seemed to get the hang of how the weapon worked. He circled, went from defensive to offensive, cutting at the wrist to weaken Killeen's grip. Another hit slammed against the shield, and Will realized quickly that the piece wouldn't last much longer if hit again.

Will's mouth went dry, realizing that he might have to watch Horace face that mace with only the sword.

Horace seemed to realize the same thing he did, pausing momentarily when the mace stuck in the metal. He skipped back and glanced down at his shield, but Killeen didn't seem to be willing to give him that moment. Before anyone could yell a warning, the mace swung towards Horace's head.

The shield flashed up at the last moment, barely in time to block the mace.

Will watched, his heart in his throat, as his knight evaded the iron ball again and again. The fight had been going on for some time now, something neither Halt nor Horace had predicted when they had been discussing this beforehand. Now it seemed like it had been going on for hours. They had both thought it would be over in a matter of a few minutes.

But that had also been before they knew that Killeen would be using a mace and chain.

Horace suddenly slammed his sword into the turf, fiddling with the strap of his shield as Killeen stomped towards him. Horace took up his sword again, stepping around the mace as it was flung at him again. Horace looked towards the stands where Will and Halt sat, an odd look on his face. Will recognized that look. He would recognize that look anywhere. He had seen it too many times to count, and right now was the last place Will wanted to see it again.

Horace was going to do something stupid.

Will brushed Halt's hand from his knee, standing in his spot and leaning forward to grip the railing, his knuckles turning white. He could hear the cheers from the other side of the stadium, contrast to their side that was nearly dead silent as they watched their legendary Sunrise Warrior getting beat over and over again by the mace.

Going on the offensive, the tip of Horace's sword flicked towards the vision slit of the twin's helm, and then down towards the weapon hand like he had done before. The man roared in fury, whirring the mace in chain in giant circles above his head.

"Fuck, _fuck,_ " Will choked out, his voice barely above a breath as he watched Horace plant his feet in the ground instead of backing away like anyone with common sense would. Killeen swung the mace and chain in an overhead arc, and, horrifically, Horace raised his battered shield up to block it. Will heard the crunch from his spot, the metal warping and tearing and the wood splintering. There was no doubt that the spikes had gone through, biting into the shattered steel and wood and possibly Horace's arm.

Killeen pulled the weapon back, but instead of the Sunrise Warrior collapsing after the brute force of the hit … instead, the shield was flung off Horace's arm, spinning in the air and flying overhead along with the iron ball. The giant was thrown off balance with the extra weight, and in that half second where he turned to see what it was—Horace struck.

The roar from both sides of the arena as Killeen's helmet went spinning away jerked Will out of his intense focus. It felt like only seconds had passed from when he had heard the trumpet, despite the fight feeling hours long, and now he saw the outcome: Horace standing, shield-less, over the beheaded, crumpled body of the first brother.

Will didn't hesitate, didn't wait for the trumpet marking the end of the first fight. He vaulted the railing with Halt just behind him. They sprinted across the field for Horace, where he stood near the center of the arena. He looked unsteady, off-balance, and he leaned into Will's touch the moment Will grabbed him, checking him over for any injuries he may have missed during the fight. He hadn't noticed it until now, but Will saw that he was shaking as his hands checked over Horace.

"I think I'm going to need another shield," the knight said, his voice shaking. Will finally looked up at Horace's face and immediately saw the exhaustion in his eyes.

Knowing that it might be against the rules, Will pulled Horace into a hug, his breath caught in his throat. After a moment, he felt Horace's arms go loosely around his torso, still leaning into him. He took a few heavy breaths as he leaned to rest his forehead against Will's shoulder.

The crowd was still cheering, even as Will slipped out of Horace's arms and started to lead him off the field, Halt following just behind them. Already, Will was mentally going over what he thought he should say. He didn't want to hide his feelings from Horace any longer, not when it was possible that either of them could die at any moment. He had known that before, but these duels were only proving to him that they wouldn't always be able to protect the other. He licked his lips, opened his mouth to say something, and then someone grabbed his elbow. Halt. Will had forgotten that he'd been with them, that he'd followed Will out onto the field.

"Will," Halt said, his voice curt and low. "Get back to the tent, quickly, and keep an eye on things. We'll be along shortly."

Will took one look at his teacher's face and knew that this was no time for arguing. Something was wrong. His and Horace's talk would have to wait, especially for a time when Halt wasn't around. He squeezed Horace's arm where he held him, before letting go and bounding away from them in the direction of the tent.

* * *

Will looked up when Halt and Horace arrived, the former carrying Horace's sword, helmet, and the battered, crumpled shield. Halt tossed it into a corner unceremoniously.

"Won't be needing that again," Halt said, shaking his head. He looked up to Will, a question in his eyes, and Will shook his head, signaling that he hadn't found anything amiss when he'd gotten back to the tent. Although Halt's remark about the shield reminded him that he should check the straps and fittings on Horace's reserve shield before the next fight.

Horace sank back on the lounge, sighing heavily as his bruised muscles came into contact with the cushions. He glanced longingly at the jug on the table, and Will didn't even have to hear the question. He was already pouring the drink when Horace whispered "Pour me a drink, would you, Will? I'm parched."

Smirking, Will listened to the tinkle of the ice as he poured his knight a large cup of the delicious water. After he handed it over, Horace drank the tumbler in one long gulp, and then nodded as Will offered the jug for a refill. This time, he sipped the cold water more slowly. Setting the jug back down, Will looked over to Halt, who was setting out the rest of Horace's gear on the table.

"How long till he faces Gerard?" Will asked, looking between the older Ranger and Horace, who looked to be close to dozing off on the lounge.

"He's got over an hour," Halt said. He seemed to hesitate, but then he said. "You and I can take care of things for now. You make sure he gets out of that amour and rests for a bit, I'll check in with Sean and watch those Genovesans in case they try anything."

Nodding, Will moved towards Horace as Halt slipped out of the tent and tied it closed. "Let's get that mail shirt off you," Will said gently, nudging him back into consciousness.

Horace shook his head. "I should check my sword's edge first."

"I can do that," Will said, stopping him from standing. Instead, he took hold of the chain mail and helped pull the long, heavy garment over his partner's head. The mail shirt had a light chamois leather lining, now stained and damp with sweat. Will turned it inside out and draped it across the arms rack, moving the rack so that it was just inside the doorway, catching the light breeze that was making it ways between the ties.

"Rest," Will murmured, seeing that Horace was still up and watching him. He moved back towards the lounge, intending on pushing Horace into the cushions for a rest. Instead, though, Horace grabbed onto him, his arms wrapped around Will's lower abdomen, and rested his forehead against Will's sternum.

 _He's just tired from the fight,_ Will mentally reasoned with himself, even if internally he was screaming at the touch. _He's just tired and not thinking about how this might come off._

"I could get used to this Sunrise Warrior thing," Horace mumbled into Will's shirt.

"Go to sleep. I'll wake you in plenty time for a massage to get the kinks out," Will said, laughing as he gently pushed Horace back into the cushions, slipping out of his grasp.

The moment he said that though, he realized what a terrible idea it was. Will, giving Horace a massage when the knight was already blurring the lines between their relationship by being so oddly touchy. Normally, Will could handle touching and holding Horace and hide his feelings, but doing so while giving a massage to him while he was obviously not thinking straight was just … it just wouldn't end well, in Will's opinion.

When Horace finally laid back, Will backed away to the other side of the lounge, picking up the long sword. There was a gentle rasping sound as Will worked to put an extra-sharp edge on the sword, noticing a slight nick in the blade where it had caught against Killeen's shield. The sound must've been relaxing, Will noticed, because as he worked, he noticed Horace's body slowly relax to the rhythm of the sound, drifting off to sleep.

Will smiled, pausing for a moment to watch the rise and fall of Horace's chest. The next fighter, Gerard, would be using a sword. There was no doubt there that Horace would easily dispatch the big man, and that this whole nightmare would be over. Sighing, Will went back to work on sharpening the sword. It wouldn't do to have a dull blade for the upcoming duel.

He woke Horace after half an hour. In that half an hour, Will had been mentally going over (and over and over) what he should say to Horace. How he should say it. And during that half an hour, Will had thought through possibly a million ways that confession could go—all of them bad.

The knight didn't even have to sit up for Will to see that Horace's muscles were stiff and aching. So, swallowing all doubts or concerns, Will motioned for Horace to roll over. As he did so, Will kneeled partially on the side of the lounge, keeping his other leg planted on the ground to balance him. The side of his thigh brushed Horace, and, without even putting a hand on him, Will's heart was beating fast.

It was a good thing Horace's face was turned away from him and that his eyes were closed, because it didn't even take a few seconds of contact for Will's face to suddenly feel hot. He had no doubt that his cheeks were getting pinker by the second, and prayed to whoever was listening that Halt didn't walk back in anytime soon.

Leaning forward, Will placed his hands at the rise of Horace's shoulders, right at the base of his neck. He didn't need to be a professional to feel the tension and hotness in the muscles, and, slowly, Will started working them as he was used to working his own muscles after exercising. He tried to start lighter, knowing that Horace would be fairly sore, but as he started probing further, moving along the top of Horace's shoulders, he heard Horace give a slight groan, the pleasure and pain painted clearly on his face. The knight relaxed into his touch fairly easily and because of that, Will found that the movements came easier—even if he could feel his face getting redder and redder.

He continued massaging Horace's shoulders and upper back, feeling the knots in his muscles through the thin lining of Horace's undershirt. Will bit down hard on his lip, forcing himself to not make a sound even as Horace let out another moan as Will started working on the lower parts of Horace's back, using his fingers and knuckles to loosen the tension. The Ranger found it hard to breathe, but he forced himself to continue watching Horace's face to make sure he wasn't hurting the knight in any way.

Pushing in with his palms at the base of Horace's shoulders, the knight groaned again, smiling as he felt his bruised muscles loosen at the touch. Will swallowed, deciding to end this soon before he got too flustered to look Horace in the face later on. Without thinking, Will straightened his back, sitting up to put more pressure on this last spot. He dug the knuckles of his thumbs into two spots at the same time just below the shoulder blades but closer in towards the spine. He pressed down and out, pushing Horace forward and momentarily burying the knight's face in the cushions.

"—ck—FUCK, Will—" Horace gasped loudly, his voice cut off as his face was shoved into the cushions. Will bit down into his lip again, this time tasting blood. Horace pulled his arms up from his sides, intending to push himself up from the spot, but Will was still partially on top of him and easily kept him in place. Will hadn't meant to hold him down, it was just how he had been leaning over Horace, but feeling the knight balk under him and then relax back into his grip was tauntingly pleasurable for the Ranger. Smiling to himself, Will massaged lightly around where he had pressed, easing the rest of the tension out of his body and feeling once again as Horace relaxed further and further into his touch. Finally, Will fell still, keeping his hands splayed across Horace's back as he marveled not only at the knight's muscles, but also how he had felt under Will's grasp—and how much Will found that he had enjoyed that.

Horace laid still for half a moment when Will finally moved from his position over him. Just as he did so, someone walked through the tent's entrance, a closed off and grim look on their face. Halt looked between Will, who was standing only a meter from Horace, and Horace, who still laid face down on the lounge, and raised an eyebrow at his apprentice.

With Halt back, Will realized that he wouldn't be able to get a private word with Horace until _after_ the next duel. He had lost his chance to talk to his knight, instead exchanging those words for the massage that had left them both blushing and unable to look at the other.

Before Halt could say anything though, the knight let out a heavy sigh and started to sit up from the lounge. The short nap seemed to have left Horace drowsy and sluggish, Will noticed, watching as Horace swung his legs off the lounge and sat, head down between his knees for a few seconds. He let out another stiff, memorable groan, and shook his head roughly, eyes closed tight.

"Are you all right?" Will asked. He had watched Horace sleep, his saxe knife drawn and lying ready across his knees. He had seemed fine then and seemed fine during the massage. But now there was just a hint of blankness in his eyes. Just a hint, but it still worried Will all the same.

"I'm just a bit foggy, that's all," Horace said, shaking his head again. The knight frowned, but instead of resting further on the couch, he stood. As he did so, though, he swayed and his hand shot out to grasp the back of the lounge to steady himself. Alarm bells rang in Will's head and he glanced towards Halt to see if he had seen the same thing.

Halt was looking at Horace, concern evident in his eyes. "Are you sure?" Halt said, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched.

Horace sat back on the edge of the lounge, took a breath, and then smiled again. It was obviously forced, Will could tell. "I'll be fine," Horace said, "Shouldn't sleep during the day, really. Pass me that mail shirt, will you?"

Will hesitated, but with a nod from Halt, he stepped over the grab the mail shirt. The chamois lining had dried in the light breeze, and Will helped Horace has they pulled it over his head. He had to stand for it to fall to it's full length, though, and as he did so he swayed again, this time with only Will to grab onto. Horace's hands shot out, landing on either of Will's shoulders.

"Horace?" Halt said suddenly, stepping forward from where he'd been standing near the entrance. Will grabbed onto Horace's wrists, shocked at the sudden touch but also at how off-balance Horace seemed now compared to how steady he normally was. "What's—"

"I'm fine," Horace snapped, pulling his wrists out of Will's grip and taking a step back. He refused to meet Will's eyes, instead looking away towards the back of the tent. "I'll walk it off."

He took the clean surcoat that laid across the back of the lounge and pulled it over the mail shirt.

Halt glanced outside, seeming to be estimating how much time they had before the fight with the second twin. The area around the food and drink stalls was becoming less crowded as the spectators made their way back to their seats. From what Will could see, he estimated maybe ten minutes before Horace and Gerard would be called to the arena.

The older Ranger seemed to make a decision. "Let's head up there now. The stewards will have to examine your sword again anyway."

Halt motioned for Will to help gather up the rest of Horace's gear, and when they had everything they started towards the arena, Will pausing to refasten the tent flaps. The two Rangers walked on either side of Horace, flanking him as they made their way to the combats ground. The dwindling crowd at the stalls made way for them, showing deference to the Sunrise Warrior of legend. Horace had already become a popular figure among the people of Dun Kilty, and the spectacular way he had dispatched Killeen had caught their collective imagination.

The entire way, Will watched every little movement Horace made, and he could see Halt doing the same. Horace seemed to be back to normal, if a little moody, with his stride firm and unfaltering. Both Rangers seemed to let out a small sigh of relief at the same moment, figuring that Horace had been right and that his mind had just been cloudy from the nap and massage. There wasn't anything wrong.

Then, Horace paused in his step, looking between the two Rangers. "We have a problem," he said simply. His tone betrayed nothing, though, and there was no sign of concern on his face.

"What?" Halt hissed, looking up at Horace. "What's wrong?"

"I can't focus my eyes."

Thousands of thoughts—reasons, explanations, causes—all flew through Will's mind in the fraction of the second after Horace stated what was wrong. The duel was coming up in a matter of minutes and they didn't have any way to stop or stall without drawing suspicion to their side.

"Will," Halt broke into Will's thoughts, the tone of his voice telling the younger Ranger that his mentor had realized what had happened already. "Get that water jug in the tent. It's been drugged! Don't let anyone interfere with it!"

For a moment, he was confused. Drugged? By who? But then the answer dawned on him—the Genovesans. Killeen had been meant to dispatch Horace, and now that it hadn't happened, Tennyson was probably desperate to make sure this fight went his way. He either had zero faith in Gerard or just wanted an easy kill

Even if it meant breaking the 'sacred rules' that mattered so much to the people of Dun Kilty.

Will wanted nothing more than to stay with Horace to make sure he would be okay, to stop the duel from happening, but he also knew that Halt was right. He had to get that water jug before anything happened to it. Spinning on his heels, Will darted back towards the tent, running as fast as he could.

* * *

Will heard the first clash of sword on shield as he and the marshal dragged the staggering Genovesan towards the field of combat. Spectators around the area parted before them, seeing the look on Will's face and immediately knowing to stay out of his way. Behind them trailed the ice vendor who was obviously puzzled but didn't want to risk angering the young foreigner.

The crowd was roaring, preventing Will from hearing anymore of the fight as he pushed his way through. Shouts of triumph turned to a giant gasp of despair from the western stand, pushing Will the last few meters to get to the southern end of the arena.

His heart sank.

The huge, two handed sword in Gerard's hand was being held like a dagger as he prepared to drive it down, plunging it into Horace's helpless body that laid underneath him. Acting on instinct, Will finally allowed himself to do what he'd wanted to do the entire day: he shrugged the bow off his shoulder and into his left hand. As he raised it, the arrow appeared in his hand and nocked itself on the string.

He drew and fired in a heartbeat, not bothering to double-check where he sent the arrow. He knew his aim was true.

Gerard's victory snarl turn abruptly into a screech of agony as the razor sharp arrow tore through the muscle of his upper right arm. The twin wheeled away from the body before him, the sword falling harmlessly to the side of Horace's still form. Gerard clutched at the wound with his left hand, blood gushing through his fingers and the throbbing pain burning down to his hand.

The crowd was shocked into silence, not sure how to react.

"Treachery!" Will yelled at the top of his lungs. He lowered his left arm, but kept his longbow out as he once again vaulted the railing into the arena. The marshal stumbled after him, struggling to get the Genovesan over the bars by himself. "Treachery!" Will yelled again, eyes locked at the pavilion across the arena where he could see Tennyson. "The Sunrise Warrior has been poisoned by Tennyson!" He pointed at the man who had caused all this grief. All to con hardworking citizens out of their earned gold. "Treachery!"

Someone, who sounded strikingly like Halt, starting to yell "Treachery!" from behind him, and the chant was quickly picked up by the rest of the spectators in the stands. Will started towards the center of the field, the marshal and Genovesan in tow. The ice vendor had slipped away at Will's last-minute request and he only hoped that the man would get back in time.

After that, the rest of it turned to a blur in Will's mind. Tennyson and the Genovesan argued against the treachery call, as Will figured they would. By then, he was standing beside Horace in the center of the field, Gerard hunched over a few meters away where he still clasped his arm. Of course Will had known that the cult leader would demand proof—he had prepared for that. An easy lie already at the tip of his tongue and a quick demonstration with the water the ice vendor brought back proved to be all he needed. Within seconds of the assassin wrenching out of Will's grasp, the crowd was yelling at Tennyson and the white-robed acolytes, booing and yelling angry remarks about cheating and treachery.

"No! I tell you it's—" Tennyson started to shout, but the crowd quickly drowned him out, fury rising. His recent recruits were even yelling at him, someone even going so far as to throw an apple core at him. The crowd was eager for another duel and they believed in the divine, inarguable power of trial by combat as a way of finding the truth. And this man had broken the rules of that divine power.

Tennyson was glaring his hatred at King Ferris, no longer paying attention to the figures in the middle of the arena. In his mind, both Killeen and Gerard, and that _damned_ Genovesan, had failed him. They deserved whatever they got coming to them, but it was Ferris he'd have to deal with.

"Go ahead," King Ferris said, looking between Will and Tennyson in the stands. Will blinked, his mind clearing from the fog. Had he really just … volunteered himself to a duel in order to prove the poisoning claim?

More marshals came from the sides of the arena, two more grabbing the Genovesan and escorting him back to Tennyson's side of the stands to collect his weapon. More helped Gerard to his feet and led him over to another pavilion where Will figured some medics were waiting for any accidental injuries during the fights from onlookers or vendors. It might have been a trial by combat, to the death, but it was always handy to keep a healer on hand, no matter what.

To his side, Horace was finally pulling himself off the ground, shaking his head again as if to clear his eyesight. Will knelt down beside him, leaning forward to help pull the helmet off so Horace could breath and see easier. As he did, though, Horace grabbed onto the back of his neck and pulled Will closer to his face so they were only a hair's breadth apart.

"Will, _what_ are you doing? You shouldn't have proposed another _duel,_ that's—"

"What else could I have done?" Will snapped, cutting Horace off. He set the helmet down on the ground, putting a hand on Horace's jaw so he could get a better look at Horace's face. His eyes were completely unfocused, the pupils wide and oddly dilated. But this close, they could easily read the other's face and the emotions written there. Looking over Horace's shoulder, Will saw Halt and Sean making their way across the field, two more marshals trailing behind them. He didn't have much more time.

He made his decision. He closed his eyes, thinking through his words. He opened his eyes and looked into Horace's sky blue ones. "Horace," he murmured, his voice low and quick, "I need to tell you something … before I do this."

Horace's unfocused eyes still bore into him, the concern and worry so obviously written on his face that Will nearly choked on his next words. But he had to say them. "I love you," he whispered.

And then Halt and Sean were on them, Halt leaning down to help Horace stand and the marshals collecting Horace's helmet and fallen sword. Sean started speaking to Will, going over the rules quickly and quietly. But Will wasn't listening. He watched as Horace was led off the field by Halt and the marshals, gaze never leaving his knight.

And Horace's never left Will, even as his unmistakable form got further and further away, blurrier and blurrier, until the knight no longer saw the small shadow he called his own.


End file.
